Frozen
by Zekkers
Summary: The battle at Hoth goes a little differently. AU
1. Chapter 1

Frozen Chapter 1  
  
By Zekkers  
  
Zekkers@juno.com  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.  
  
Summery: AU. The battle at Hoth ends up a bit differently.  
  
Warning: I'm ignoring all books, magazines, comics, and any movies released in the last 10 years. Just ANH and ESB here folks.  
  
////  
  
Luke stumbled in the snow. Sounds of the Imperial attack on the Rebel outpost thundered in the distance. Luke pushed himself to his feet, the icy breath of Hoth stinging his skin. He had only a little ways to go and he would find his waiting ship, and be off this ball of ice- hopefully forever.  
  
He crested the rise of the frozen drift. The prickly bite of the windblown ice intensified with the wind. It briefly reminded him of the sand dunes and wind-blown grit of his youth. If only he could be that warm, right now. His hands were numb; he couldn't feel his toes.  
  
He saw his ship, the orange markings standing out in the snow basin below him. He threw himself forward, half running, half stumbling through the thick whiteness that grabbed at his ankles.  
  
Almost there-  
  
"FREEZE!" The word was shouted into the brittle air. Suddenly, Skywalker saw a whole squad of Snowtroopers rise out of the drifts like snow-wraiths. They surrounded him, white armor and white blasters blending into the terrain. Too many to fight, too many to run.  
  
Luke Skywalker slowly raised his hands. "I'm already freezing!" The Imperials didn't think it was funny, the stun blast hit him square in the back.  
  
/  
  
"Sir! Report on the prisoners, sir!" The Snowtrooper was bristling with over-enthusiasm. The Lieutenant hoped for good news, Lord Vader was very upset on the recent escape of the Millennium Falcon.  
  
"Report"  
  
"Sir! One of pilots taken at the ambush point was identified as Luke Skywalker, sir!"  
  
"Luke Skywalker?!" The Lieutenant was stunned.  
  
"Yes sir!" The Snowtrooper almost sounded as giddy as a child opening birthday gifts. Skywalker had recently been placed on the Imperial most wanted list, for destruction of the Death Star. Lord Vader had issued orders that the Rebel be placed under the strictest security and held without damages for his personal attentions.  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"With the other prisoners, sir!"  
  
"Well, get him isolated, I want a whole squad watching him! And he better be unharmed- Lord Vader ordered it!" The Lieutenant was both nervous and ecstatic. If he could deliver this prize to Lord Vader, he would be rewarded, but if something happened to the Rebel, he knew he was dead.  
  
"Yes sir!"  
  
The Lieutenant decided to follow his Snowtrooper. Blood lust ran high for this particular Rebel, many of the Imperial troops had friends or family stationed on the Death Star when this Rebel destroyed it. It would take careful watching to be sure no one took personal revenge on this particular pilot.  
  
/  
  
The prisoner holding pen was a makeshift affair. The durasteel cage was haphazardly welded together of whatever parts the fleeing Rebels had left behind, and Stormtroopers patrolled its exterior. The prisoners waited inside. Many were dirty, or injured. Most sat or lay unconscious on the pen's floor. The sound of soft moaning could be heard. An orange pile of flightsuited pilots littered one section- most of the returning squad had been taken, one by one, by the hidden Snowtroopers on return to their ships.  
  
Two Rebel techs slumped against the wall next to the orange pile.  
  
"Hist- Drake," one prisoner whispered, trying not to be heard by the patrolling troopers outside the makeshift cage.  
  
"Oh, Zack, they got you too?" The other prisoner groggily replied.  
  
"Yeah. But at least I got nothing to tell. But him-" The prisoner whispered, indicating a particular pilot.  
  
"Oh no." The prisoner was shocked. This was bad.  
  
"Yeah. Um, Drake. should we kill him?" Zack whispered, almost pleading.  
  
"Wha-"  
  
"Think what they'll do to him. Even if he doesn't know anything- they'll want revenge." The prisoner tried to explain.  
  
"You're right." The man sounded sick. "It would be mercy at our hands."  
  
"Look casual, but hurry- they're coming."  
  
They tried to casually move over to the pile of pilots. Movement was painful, after the stun-blast. They sat on the dirty frozen floor, and reached for the pilot's throat.  
  
The squad of troopers reached the cage, several entered as the remainder of the squad and their lieutenant kept watch. The Stormtroopers in the cage randomly stun-blasted anyone who twitched in their direction, checking faces of the prisoners.  
  
Skywalker had started to struggle, sluggishly. He weakly gasped for air, as the two techs held on.  
  
The lieutenant saw the three in the corner. "Over there!" The white armored group shuffled over to the prone Luke dying at the hands of his comrades. The troopers kicked the Rebel techs off the pilot, checked the purpling face.  
  
"That's him- better take him to medical." One white armored figure commanded.  
  
The pilot was dragged off, one trooper taking each arm.  
  
All became quiet again in the cage, as Drake and Zack tried to catch their breath.  
  
Someone against the wall whispered, "why did you do that?"  
  
Drake answered, "That was Skywalker. It would have been mercy."  
  
"Skywalker? The one who-"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Oh no." The other prisoner began to whisper a prayer to their planet's gods. Imperial mercy for the one pilot responsible for the destruction of the Empire's greatest superweapon would be horrible indeed.  
  
/  
  
The raven form stood on the bridge of the Executor, masked eyes taking in the frozen sphere of Hoth. The hiss of its respirator filled the bridge. It was a soft noise, yet it carried to every corner of the large room, past all natural expectations.  
  
Admiral Piett deferentially walked up to the shadowed man. "My lord, the prisoner is regaining conousness."  
  
"Bring him here."  
  
"Yes, my lord."  
  
Shortly thereafter, the turbolift at the back of the bridge hissed open and six Stormtroopers marched out, two with the prisoner between them. The Stormtroopers were obviously holding him up. The Rebel prisoner staggered between them, unwilling or unable to take his own feet, as he was half dragged to the Lord Vader.  
  
The two Stormtroopers stopped, the form slumped exhausted between them. His head lolled, his flight suit torn and dirty. The prisoner coughed, weakly spasming, as Darth Vader inspected the bruised form of the Rebel, the pilot. Vader could feel the terrified thoughts of the bridge crew, the Stormtroopers. They were terrified of their Dark Lord, yet there was also an undercurrent of morbid expectation. They expected him to do something horrific to this prisoner for revenge of the Imperial Death Star. He would take his time.  
  
The prisoner pulled himself to his feet, pushing himself up, dazed. He coughed again, bleary eyes unfocused as they tried to look around. He spoke, hoarse whisper "Wha- Where?-"  
  
Lord Vader's hand reached out, took the Rebel's chin, tilting it. Revealing the thick purple bruises on his neck.  
  
"Admiral." The voice was commanding, and harsh. The Rebel's eyes began to focus. He caught the vision of who was before him, who was touching him. He began to struggle, weakly. Vader ignored it, hand firm, as the Admiral came up, snapping to attention.  
  
"Yes, my lord?"  
  
"I said undamaged." The Rebel continued to struggle, chin in a black vice. The Rebel started to cough, again.  
  
"I'm sorry my lord. He was held in a group holding cell before he was identified. Some of his comrades tried to strangle him." Darth Vader could feel the itching fear of his Admiral, but he ignored it. He knew what had happened, and it was only one more tool to use against this Rebel.  
  
The Rebel heard the officer, he glared at the Imperial, head still in the Dark Lord's hand. He wheezed out "You lie."  
  
Darth Vader released the Rebel. His respirator hissed. "My Admiral would not lie to me." The Rebel continued to weakly thrash, the Stormtrooper guards holding him up more than they were holding him still. The Dark Lord turned to the Stormtrooper escort, "His weapons?"  
  
"His gear is in the medical bay, my lord. But he did have this." The Stormtrooper held out a metallic cylinder.  
  
The Dark Lord turned the lightsaber in his hands, inspecting it. He noticed that the Rebel's eyes were glued to the weapon and that the Rebel had become helplessly furious.  
  
"Give that back!" The Rebel croaked, "It's mine!"  
  
The Admiral smirked, but Vader continued to casually inspect the saber. Lord Vader replied, unconcerned, "No, it is not yours- you did not build it." A moment's pause, "Who gave it to you?" Idle curiosity hummed in the mechanical voice.  
  
Righteous anger burned in the Rebel pilot's eyes. "Kenobi" he hissed.  
  
"Obi-wan? Ah yes, that old man. I wonder why he wanted you to have it?" The same curiosity, almost a casual conversation; but the Rebel spat a reply.  
  
"My father wanted me to have it. Anakin Skywalker."  
  
"Anakin?" The Dark form shifted, lost in thought.  
  
"You should know- you killed him," the hoarse voice grated. The Rebel coughed and wheezed, his throat a raspy bruised mass.  
  
"Anakin Skywalker? I have killed many Jedi, young one, but he was not one of them. I did not kill Skywalker. It would be far more accurate to say that Kenobi was responsible for his death." The Dark Lord paused, letting that immense statement sink in. Then he continued, softly.  
  
"If he's even dead, at all."  
  
Darth Vader turned, suddenly. His dark cape billowing behind him as he walked away. The stunned Rebel watching the retreating form in silence, unable to make a reply.  
  
The mechanical voice rumbled over the bridge. "Take him away, clean him up, have him changed. Bring him to my quarters. No damages, Admiral." The Dark Lord was gone.  
  
The Admiral motioned to the guards, mind awash with the possibilities. It appeared that Darth Vader would take his time with this one. The Dark Lord would play with his new toy. The Admiral smiled. He had a nephew on the Death Star, and he trusted that Lord Vader's revenge would be thorough indeed. 


	2. Chapter 2

Frozen - Chapter 2  
  
Darth Vader sat in the meditation pod in his quarters the respirator hissing as he concentrated on each breath. He had waited for this day. Waited and watched, plotted and planned. When the fleet had lost the Millennium Falcon, he had nearly screamed in rage. It had been nothing but a tool, a tool to get his son. But even then, his son had already been in his custody, Darth Vader himself unaware.  
  
He thought about his son. He had been unable to gain any information through Imperial spies on what Luke knew of him, knew of his father. He had been forced to fish for information from the boy himself, placing the dark lord at a disadvantage for their first meeting. But then, the boy had given him everything he needed to know right at the beginning.  
  
Vader now knew that Luke knew nothing. Nothing true, at any rate. Obi-wan had stuffed the boy's head with lies. Lies designed to mutilate any relationship he could have had with the boy. Lies designed to set Luke up to become nothing but the Jedi's tool. A tool meant to be sent against him, Lord Vader. A tool meant to kill.  
  
But he would attempt to turn this tool on its makers. Luke would most likely be furious when he was shown the truth. And if Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, could shepherd his son through that rage- the tool would shatter in the Rebellion's hands, cutting deep. With luck, the tool could be reforged into an unbreakable blade, but the dark lord would have to let the Force guide him. If he could not be reforged the broken pieces of his son would be gathered together and kept hidden. At his castle, perhaps.  
  
It grieved the Dark Lord to take this risk, to break his son. But it had to be done. Nothing less would free Luke from the enslaving lies under which he now lived. Even now, it had begun. Luke would be reshaped, transformed into what Darth Vader required. The method was subtle, but it had worked for thousands of years. Skywalker would be striped of everything that he was, and then he would be rebuilt anew.  
  
/  
  
Luke craned his neck after the retreating Darth Vader as he was shuffled off the bridge. He had said that he hadn't killed Luke's father Anakin- that Obi-wan had! But that had to be lie, didn't it? Jedi didn't kill Jedi, did they? Luke was shoved back on the turbolift, still unable to stand on his own. And he had said that his father was still alive!! Well, maybe. Darth Vader had actually sounded uncertain. But wouldn't his father want to find him, and if his father had really been a Jedi- wouldn't he know where Luke had been? The Dark Lord had to be lying. He just had to be.  
  
Luke noticed that they had taken him to the medical bay. He was shoved on a table, while ten Stormtroopers stood guard. Four medical orderlies and one Imperial doctor came over. The doctor was looking at a small datapad, nodding to himself.  
  
"Very well. Remove his uniform." The doctor's voice was nasal. His face was thin and pinched and topped with a few gray hairs. The man was short, and his Imperial uniform was spotless.  
  
Two of the white-jumpsuited orderlies began to cut the pilot's flightsuit off.  
  
The medical scissors cut through the flightsuit, severing circuits and breaking seals. The orderlies cast it aside as useless trash. "His undergarments as well." The nasally voice of the doctor could be easily heard over Luke's feeble attempts to struggle. The orderlies sheared those off also.  
  
When they were done, they stepped back, leaving a naked shivering Luke on the table.  
  
"Bathe him." The doctor clipped.  
  
"Yes, major." One of the orderlies said as they reached forward, grabbing Luke, hauling him to the sonic shower. Skywalker gripped his fear- trying to shove it out. The doctor had military rank. Every Rebel knew that the only Imperial doctors with military rank were the ones in charge of interrogations.  
  
As the vibrations of the shower hit Luke, He remembered Darth Vader's words 'Clean him up, bring him to my quarters.' Skywalker tried not to remember the few stories Leia had been willing to share about her time under the Dark Lord's care. It's been over a year and she still occasionally wakes up screaming from nightmares.  
  
They hauled him back to the table in the medical room. They were rough, their hands firmly forcing him around. He was strapped down on the icy metal table, still naked.  
  
"Scan him. Test his blood. I want a complete evaluation."  
  
Equipment was brought out, a blood sample was taken. He was scanned head to foot. The orderlies reported to the major, brisk military voices snapping through the chill medical bay air.  
  
"Rebels must not have good medical benefits. He's missing half of his vaccinations against known diseases, sir."  
  
"Nothing broken. Neck's in bad shape, however."  
  
"Treat his neck, vaccinate him."  
  
An orderly raised an eyebrow at the doctor.  
  
The doctor smiled a cruel little smile at the shivering Skywalker, strapped to the bed. "Lord Vader has requested that his new guest be in perfect health before he begins."  
  
Skywalker closed his eyes in horror as the orderlies went to work. Medication was slathered on his neck, and he was given multiple injections. Skywalker didn't want to open his eyes. Maybe this would all go away. It had to be a dream. The doctor noticed Skywalker's growing unease, his smile broadened.  
  
The mincing step of a droid made Luke open his eyes. He glanced over at the sound. A silver and black protocol droid had come into the room, carrying clothes over one arm.  
  
It walked up to the doctor, who glanced at it. "I am C5PO, protocol droid. Lord Vader has sent me to help prepare the guest." Skywalker couldn't believe it. The droid even sounded like C3PO. Probably all protocol droids sounded like that, but it gave Luke a brief breath of hope- couldn't this please be a dream?  
  
"Yes, I was informed you were coming. He's right there." The doctor snipped back. He hated droids. Any good Imperial did, and this one sounded so whinny.  
  
The droid walked over to Skywalker, who was still strapped to the bed. "I have prepared his clothes. Oh my, he needs a haircut. Can you please move him to a sitting position?"  
  
The doctor motioned, the orderlies moved Skywalker. The droid cut his hair and had him dressed.  
  
"There, " the droid said, "that looks much better. You look presentable now, sir." The droid turned, stepping back to retrieve a mirror. Luke got to his feet, looking at himself.  
  
He had on black shinny knee high boots, black military pants with crisp creases, and a close fitting purple shirt with green piping. His hair had been cut and gelled into a rigid style. Gone were the loose-fitting clothes, the shaggy hairstyle so popular with the Rebels. Luke swallowed, and whispered, "I look like an Imperial."  
  
The doctor laughed. The doctor's Dark Lord was a master at the arts that he felt he had barely begun to learn. As soon as the orders had come down on what Darth Vader had wanted done, the doctor had known what was going to happen. Lord Vader was going to break the Rebel pilot. Not break him into some quivering ball of fear, no, that was too easy. By the time he was done, Lord Vader would have a faithful servant. It only remained to be seen how useful this servant would be after the Dark Lord was finished.  
  
/  
  
T5-168, Stormtrooper guard, had watched the little drama down in the Medical Bay with fascination. This man was responsible for the death of over a million of the Emperor's best personnel? This man was responsible for the death of countless officers, technicians, pilots, and soldiers like himself? This scrawny, scarred little man? He was practically a boy! Of course, Lord Vader was going to start working on him soon, and the Rebel knew it. The Rebel was looking a very painful, drawn-out, and messy death in the face. He was actually holding together rather well.  
  
The Major from Intel, the doctor, had finished his work and ordered T5-168, along with all the other guards, to take the Rebel to Lord Vader. T5-168 slapped binders on the Rebel and went to grab him by the arm. The major snapped at him, "Careful! No bruises, no damages- Lord Vader will be most displeased."  
  
"Yes sir." T5-168 lightened his grip. The Rebel came along, desperation in his eyes as he was escorted to the turbolift.  
  
T5-168 kept his eyes on the Rebel. The man squared his shoulders, raising his chin. Desperation became solid determination. Resignation to death became his strength. T5-168 wondered how long the Rebel would keep his pride before Lord Vader broke him into a pleading puddle of flesh.  
  
The turbolift stopped, they marched out. The Rebel walked like an officer, the Stormtroopers somehow becoming his honor escort.  
  
They reached Vader's quarters. The door swished open at their approach, hissing like the soft moan of a sleeping predator. T5-168 hated this room. Lord Vader never bothered to personally kill anyone lower than an officer, so T5-168 knew he was fairly safe; but the room smelled sterile. Like no living thing resided within, only the dead.  
  
The group of Stormtroopers marched in, the Rebel in their center. Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, was waiting.  
  
The Dark Lord was standing on the far side of the room like a statue etched in stone. Darkness clung to him like a wraith. The guards stopped, waiting for directions from their lord. The silence dragged out, as the feeling that something evil, something otherworldly, was watching grew in the silent room. T5-168 glanced over his shoulder with his eyes, not daring to move his head.  
  
The Rebel was staring back at Lord Vader, eyes locked with the Death's Head mask. It was obvious that he was nervous, but he held on, refusing to back down. The feeling that death was stalking the room continued to grow. The Rebel finally blinked, glanced down. The pressure in the room lessened.  
  
Darth Vader stirred. His voice grated across the room, "You cleaned up well."  
  
The Rebel looked calmly back, composed. "All ready for my funeral."  
  
The Dark Lord paused, considering, "No. Your funeral is still a long way off." With that implied threat, the Lord Vader walked up to the Rebel. "Come." The ebony cape fluttered behind the Sith as Luke was hauled after him.  
  
/  
  
One Stormtrooper pulled out the empty chair at the table while the other shoved the Rebel pilot into it. The Rebel's eyes shifted over the room, taking in the table's other occupants. The bridge crew of the Executor stared back at him in silence as Darth Vader took his place at the head of the table.  
  
Fine china graced the large wooden table. A Stormtrooper took the crisp white napkin off the Rebel's plate and put it in his lap before scooting the chair back in. A serving droid poured the white wine that would go with the first course. The bridge crew's officer's mess was more of a fine restaurant than a cafeteria.  
  
The Admiral was sitting in the chair to the right of Lord Vader. His steely eyes took in the Rebel's newest appearance. Crisp civilian clothes, new hairstyle, and binders made an unusual combination for this unexpected guest. Interesting, he thought, Lord Vader appears to be playing mind games with the Rebel Scum. I wonder why he brought his new toy here? The Dark One has never come to dinner before.  
  
The Rebel kept looking at the different officers, glancing at the dark lord. The first dish was served, green noodles in a white sauce. All eyes looked to Lord Vader, he nodded, and they began to eat. The silence continued to stretch out, none of the officers daring the normal chit-chat with the Dark Lord in the room. Great, thought the Admiral, I was at least hoping to talk to my officers about what they had heard about what Lord Vader was doing with the Rebel, but now he's here, and nothing is happening. This is boring. The Admiral glanced at the young man.  
  
The Rebel had not touched his food, his hands remained in his lap as he stole glances at the Dark Lord, glaring all the while. Darth Vader's head tilted forward, daring the Rebel to speak.  
  
Amazingly, the Rebel took him up on the dare. "What if I don't want to eat at the table of a murder?" His voice was young, but strong. He did not seem afraid. And he was not talking to anyone but the Dark Lord. The Admiral could not believe it- this man cared to object to Lord Vader's methods? The Rebel with the blood of over a million lives' on his hands? He noticed that many of the other officers felt the same way.  
  
Darth Vader's voice rumbled a reply. "I have killed many, ordered many more- but I have never been as efficient as you. There were more than a million on the Death Star. You killed them all, with one shot. I'm quite impressed with you, in a way." Irony dripped from the words.  
  
The Rebel's face flashed guilt. He buried it as he replied, "There were more on Alderaan."  
  
"I did not give that order, Tarkin did."  
  
"You could have stopped it." The reply had no heat. The Rebel was military enough to recognize the impossibility of his own statement. The Rebel began to play with his food, fork twirling the noodles.  
  
"Possibly." The Dark Lord's reply surprised the Admiral. "The Alderanians were a peacefully people, but they were anything but loyal. They proved that afterward. Many of the survivors joined the Rebellion." Darth Vader continued to sit stone still. The Admiral continued to slowly eat his food, listening intently.  
  
The Rebel twirled his fork in the sauce, seeming to regroup his thoughts. He looked at his food, looked at Vader, then took a bite. Took another. He methodically finished his dish, deep in thought. His binders were holding his hands together, making eating awkward, but he managed. The Rebel took a drink of his wine, washing down the noodles.  
  
Does the Rebel even realize that he let Lord Vader win that round? The Admiral wondered.  
  
The dishes were cleared, the next course was served. Dewback sautéed in Trill Brandy and mushrooms with green beans. Red wine was poured. The crystal glittered, the silver shone.  
  
The Rebel leaned back, his face still holding that thoughtful expression. He swallowed, and spoke softly, his voice carrying across the table.  
  
"Does it ever bother you to serve an Emperor that is so overwhelmingly stupid?" The Rebel paused as the room froze from the audacity of the prisoner being so insulting. "I mean, recruitment tripled after Alderaan and is still holding steady. Every time you Imperials blast through a system we get an inrush of new recruits, supplies, and support."  
  
The Admiral growled back at the Rebel, unable to control himself, "They were never loyal to begin with!" The Admiral's mouth snapped shut, afraid he had somehow offended his lord.  
  
"Not really." Skywalker returned. "Over a third of all recruits were, at one time, completely loyal Imperials. But they were somehow betrayed by your government. Usually their families had unintentionally lived close to an Alliance Cell. The Imperial policies for retributions in an area for Rebel involvement would result in the family's death."  
  
Darth Vader's mechanical voice grated out, "Your point?"  
  
"We have a saying in the Alliance. 'The Emperor is our best recruiter'. If he wasn't such a bloody-minded. well. He does more harm than good."  
  
Lord Vader seemed to be considering the Rebel's claim, but the Admiral could not let it slide. "You exaggerate. The people understand the need for our actions to keep the peace."  
  
The Rebel looked at the Admiral, disgust in his face. "They understand? When their children, their brothers and sisters, or their parents are killed because some Alliance member might have been spotted in the area? They understand all right- they understand that we've been speaking the truth- and they rush out and join us."  
  
"A few instances of misunderstanding. You are still exaggerating." The Admiral sniffed, turning to his food.  
  
"A few? I was 18 when my Aunt and Uncle bought two droids from some Jawas to help out on the farm. Turned out that the droids had been carrying stolen information, information on your Death Star. But we didn't know that. I was off in the fields when the Stormtroopers came. When I came back, the house was burned to the ground, my Aunt and Uncle nothing but charred remains."  
  
The Rebel paused, eating a few bites. He continued, voice bitter with remembered pain. "Took the droids straight to the Alliance. They threw me in a snub fighter. I blew up your Death Star, a tombstone for my family's grave."  
  
Silence gripped the table as the Rebel and the Imperial officers turned to their food. The Admiral kept wondering when the Lord Vader was going to say something, but the dark lord stayed still as stone, silent as the grave.  
  
The Admiral tried to decide if he was supposed to say something when one of his officers spoke up. "This does not prove you were loyal to the Empire before that incident."  
  
The Rebel replied, voice dripping in amused irony. "My application for the Imperial Naval Academy was down in my bedroom. I had filled it out- I was going to join up at the end of the next season. If the Imperial Stormtroopers had just taken the droids and left, I might have even ended up on this ship, as one of your TIE fighter pilots."  
  
Well, thought the Admiral, looks like the Rebel wins that round.  
  
Darth Vader spoke, deep voice cutting the air, "I have seen the tape of that incident. Your Uncle did not cooperate with the authorities."  
  
"I doubt that would have made any difference. Palpatine's policies call for blood."  
  
A minor officer came in, snapping to attention. The petty officer's eyes glanced at the Rebel, then widened in surprise.  
  
The Admiral looked at the man, disappointed in his lack of professionalism, called out "What is it?"  
  
"Sir, we have received a message from the Emperor. He requests Lord Vader contact him." The petty officer looked straight at the Admiral, ignoring Lord Vader. It would break protocol for a minor officer to speak directly to the Dark Lord, until spoken to.  
  
"Have the bridge make contact." Darth Vader said, "I will take it in my quarters." The Dark Lord got up and walked out, leaving the Rebel at the table.  
  
The room was silent for a few breaths, until the Darth Vader was well gone. Then the Admiral turned his steely gaze on the Rebel, who had returned to his food. "So, scum, have you been enjoying our hospitality so far?"  
  
The Rebel glanced at the Admiral like he was a complete idiot. "So far."  
  
"Looking forward to tonight?" The sneering Admiral said, words digging into Skywalker's fears.  
  
Luke shrugged, giving his best Sabacc face. "Beats talking to you."  
  
/  
  
Lord Vader kneeled on the transmission disk, bowing before his Master. The looming face hovered over him, its glowing eyes boring into Vader's bowed helmet.  
  
"You have the boy?" The Emperor crackled, voice unsteady with age.  
  
"Yes, my master." Vader replied, mechanical voice booming out.  
  
"Well- how is he?" The Emperor sneered. He had made it quite clear to Darth Vader that the Dark Lord could look for the boy, but only if he proved strong enough in the Force to be of some worth.  
  
"Quite strong, almost entirely untrained, and completely ignorant of his heritage."  
  
"How ignorant?" The Emperor questioned, compemplating the situation.  
  
"Kenobi told him that his father, Anakin Skywalker, was betrayed and murdered by Darth Vader." The Dark Lord tried to remove all emotion from his voice. It would not do to let his master realize how personally interested he was beginning to become about Luke.  
  
The Emperor laughed, an evil crackle coming over the transmission. "Perfect! The Jedi lied to him, he will be ours." The crackle died to a wheeze as the Emperor collected himself. He leaned forward, licking his lips as he grinned in anticipation. "Now, my servant, you must make him angry. Have the remainder of his squad killed before his eyes. Let him feel rage, show him how to use it to gain power through the darkside of the Force.  
  
The Dark Lord cautiously replied, "My master, most Rebels care deeply about their men. I do not wish to damage any loyalty that he will feel towards us."  
  
The Emperor waved an emancipated hand, dismissing the thought. "The darkside will make him greedy for power, for the status I can give him. In time he will forget that they even existed."  
  
"As you wish." The Dark form rumbled. "When do you want him brought before you?"  
  
The Emperor thought. "When he is ready to kneel to me. It should not take too long, should it Lord Vader?"  
  
"No, my master."  
  
"Very well, keep me informed of his progress." The Emperor cut the transmission.  
  
Darth Vader rose to his feet, went to the console and sent orders to the detention center. He used the Force to probe down to the officer's mess, were Luke was finishing his meal. Skywalker had just accused the Imperial Forces of six different bombing runs on Imperial citizens that had failed to kill even one Rebel. Lord Vader realized that his bridge crew was barely holding on to their end of the debate. Like most Imperial officers, they were purposefully kept quite ignorant of the larger effects of the Empire's policies and effectiveness.  
  
The Dark Lord suddenly realized that if he didn't keep Skywalker isolated from the crew, the boy might be able to start a mutiny. He was quite well informed, and thoroughly saturated with Rebel propaganda. It didn't help that he also had a good dose of personal charisma.  
  
Wonderful, Vader fumed as he went to collect his son. My only child had been stuffed full of nonsense and I have to straighten him out or my master will kill him. 


	3. Chapter 3

Frozen - Chapter 3  
  
Skywalker was eating his desert as the Imperial officers glared at him. Luke felt like grinning, but held it in. The Admiral in particular looked like he wanted to strangle him, he shouldn't push the man too far. Well, maybe he should. Darth Vader would be furious if his officers lost control and tried to jump him. Luke was just about to open his mouth and deliver another scathing reply when the Dark Lord returned, his black cape unfurled behind him.  
  
"Bring the prisoner." The dark lord grated, as his eyes swept the scene of one perversely happy Rebel and a roomful of furious officers.  
  
A Stormtrooper grabbed the prisoner by one arm, the other trooper did the same. They frog marched the prisoner behind Lord Vader, dragging the man to keep up. They went through the maze of turbolifts and corridors following the Dark Lord from the officer's dinning room. They finally entered the interrogation wing, then one of the rooms, following the billowing cape.  
  
They stopped, the room was mostly empty. An interrogation chair, straps and probes attached to it, and a control console. Two technicians stood behind the console, waiting for orders. Their gray uniforms matching the walls and floor. Their cold eyes betraying nothing.  
  
Lord Vader snapped. "Bring the first one in."  
  
One technician touched a button on the console, and a set of doors swished open. Four Stormtroopers came in, dragging a man in a dirty orange flightsuit between them. He was cursing, and trying to break free of his binders. The troopers hauled him up, revealing a bruised face.  
  
It was Trigg. Luke recognized the man from his squad. He was brown- haired, well-built, and his large nose was bleeding profusely.  
  
Trigg looked around, caught sight of Skywalker. It took a second for him to recognize Luke, but he did.  
  
"Commander," he rasped, "At least we got the brass out."  
  
Skywalker nodded, trying to be strong. "Yes, we did."  
  
The Stormtroopers were undoing his binders, preparing him for the grid. The man smiled, and spit a mouthful of blood on the nearest trooper. The red liquid was bright on the white armor. "You're the best, Skywalker. Proud to be a Rouge."  
  
They threw him on the chair, strapping him down. The troopers stepped back, signaling the technicians. They glanced at Vader, who growled, "Level 3." One touched a button, and Trigg's back arched. He screamed, like someone was ripping out his heart. The scream stopped, Trigg gasping. The bound man turned to Darth Vader.  
  
"Bastard." He croaked.  
  
"Again." Vader said, and the man howled again in response. The stormtrooper noticed that the prisoner Skywalker was starting to shake, furry in his eyes. "Again." The dirty pilot screamed again, starting to get hoarse. The trooper was expecting it, so the prisoner's lunge forward was easily braced. Skywalker struggled briefly, then stopped, looking away.  
  
Darth Vader growled. "Maintain this level for as long as you can. Ten more minutes will be sufficient." He walked behind the two stormtroopers holding Luke. Stopped, and reached over Luke's shoulder, grabbed his chin, and forced it up. "You will watch. Or I will make it last longer. And I will have my doctors sew your eyes open."  
  
T5-168, the stormtrooper guarding the prisoner, wondered if this Rebel pilot was Skywalker's friend. The prisoner seemed to be taking his torture hard enough. The prisoner Skywalker continued to faintly shake, mouth forming silent curses as the bound man continued to howl. Lord Vader continued to stand behind the prisoner, just watching him.  
  
The bound Rebel screeched again, and convulsed. On of the technicians spoke up. "Cardiac arrest, my lord."  
  
"Bring out the next one." Vader replied.  
  
Skywalker flinched in T5-168's grip. The four troopers pulled the body off of the chair, dragging it with them. They returned in moments with another dirty Rebel pilot, orange flightsuit torn.  
  
It was Nelson. A boy, really. Blond hair, blue eyes, he had only been in the Rebellion for a month before Hoth. He had been brimming with excitement to be assigned to Skywalker's squad. Convinced that Luke was going to single-handedly defeat any Imperial's in their way. He looked at Luke, gulped hard.  
  
"Commander?" He grunted as the Stormtroopers pulled him upright, ripping off his binders.  
  
"Pilot Nelson." Luke tried to radiate strength. The boy would need it, Nelson reminded him so much of himself. Nelson had been so unsure of himself at first. Luke pleaded with his eyes for Nelson to hold on, to be strong.  
  
Nelson was forced into the chair, roughly strapped down. He looked at Luke. "Thank you sir, for letting me fly under you."  
  
Luke was about to reply when Nelson screamed. Darth Vader had motioned to the technicians, starting the procedure. Nelson stopped screaming, only to howl again. T5-168 held the trembling Skywalker still, trying to stand tall, as a Stormtrooper guard should. T5-168 usually ran guard duty for the officer's wing. He had never been to the detention center- never seen an interrogation outside the training holovids. Eventually, Nelson stopped, his voice in ruined tatters before he died.  
  
The room was quiet, as Lord Vader's respirator faintly hissed. T5-168 noticed that the prisoner, Skywalker, was trying not to cry. He was blinking away tears, and still silently cursing.  
  
There was a small creak of armor from behind them, the Dark One spoke.  
  
"Next."  
  
The next man they brought in was big, burly, and his orange flightsuit was badly bloodied. His face was a mass of bruises under rough black hair. Jackson was an ugly man, but you couldn't tell for the bruises. He was cursing in Huttese, tossing his weight back and forth. They pulled him up.  
  
"Luke? Aw hell. Buck up commander, make 'em pay to the end." The man hurled himself at the nearest guard, was thrown to the ground, hard. "Aw, you white sissies, no respect. Gotta look good for my Commander." Jackson rolled over, and kicked the nearest guard in the crotch. The guard dropped. Jackson had grown up in the backstreets of some Rimworld city, he could've written a datacard on fighting dirty. The others guards pounced on him, kicking and punching. Jackson grunted with the blows, collapsing to the deck.  
  
The fallen guard scrambled to his feet and began kicking Jackson in the head. Skywalker strained against his captors, desperately trying to do something, anything. The guards suddenly pulled back, realizing that Darth Vader may not approve of them killing the pilot.  
  
The guards reached for the bloodied pilot, but Darth Vader grated "Leave him." The room froze, while Jackson groaned, tried to rise. Jackson lifted his head towards Luke, eyes swollen shut. "C.C.C.commmaaa." He slumped back down, his breath leaving his body.  
  
Skywalker's eyes were wide, and wild. He was breathing hard, his gaze riveted to the dead body on the floor. He swung his gaze to the four guards who had just killed his man, and he snarled through gritted teeth.  
  
"Next."  
  
The next Rebel who was brought in was walking tall, refusing to bow. It was Blackie. From a world with harsh radiation, his people had developed a coal black skin. His white eyes almost glowed from his space-black face. He was a cold man, and he methodically looked the room over as he was shoved inside. Blood smears on the chair, the floor, on the troopers who held him, his commander furious with grief, held bound but unharmed in one corner. The Dark Lord behind him, watching.  
  
"They play games commander." His voice was knife sharp and hard. "Hai. But I will not shame you." He locked eyes with Skywalker, made a little bow as they removed his binders. With a swift smooth motion, he turned the bow into a powerful kick, felling a Stormtrooper. He lashed out with his hands, chopping into the joints of another's armor. The crack of his hands breaking against the armor could be heard, but the trooper fell to the deck. He kicked with his legs again, knocking the scrambling troopers over. One grabbed his leg and twisted hard. The leg broke, and Blackie let out a strangled scream. The other trooper grabbed his head and twisted.  
  
An audible snap, and Blackie went limp. The trooper froze. His training had taken over- but the Dark Lord might be displeased.  
  
"Next." The trooper almost collapsed in relief, the Dark Lord might order punishment for later, but he would live.  
  
The four Stormtroopers pulled themselves up, dragging the body behind them. They were gone for awhile, then they hauled out a blood soaked excuse for a living man.  
  
"There were six." The Dark Lord rumbled.  
  
"Yes, my lord. But one had a dose of poison in his suit, in a hidden compartment." The trooper apologized. He hadn't been in charge of searching the prisoners, so his head wasn't on the chopping block.  
  
"Bring out the body. He must see it."  
  
The put the injured man in the chair, strapping him down before they went for the body. The rattling gasp of the injured pilot cutting the still air, playing a strange symphony with Darth Vader's hiss.  
  
The dead man was T'loupe, his face frozen in peace.  
  
The troopers dragged the body out again, as Lord Vader turned to the technicians. "Level 1, he won't last long."  
  
"Yes my lord."  
  
Skywalker looked at Dellar, the last surviving member of his squad that had had his X-wing hidden in that particular valley. 'They got us all. One by one, they got us all. Maybe the other half made it, maybe they didn't. But they got us all, there in that frozen valley. I can still feel the cold.'  
  
The body in the chair twitched, groaned, refused to die.  
  
'And now they are nothing but a show, to make me feel pain, to make me loose hope. But I can't, because of them'. Luke took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders while he watched Dellar twitch again. Dellar sat there, twitching, occasionally moaning, for several more minutes. Dellar slid under, without fanfare, never regaining concousness.  
  
Darth Vader turned from the scene "Let us return to my quarters." The Dark Lord walked out, The stormtroopers pulling the prisoner Skywalker along.  
  
They came to Lord Vader's quarters. Lord Vader walked in, motioned at a door that popped open. "Put him in the room back there. Remove his binders."  
  
T5-168 pulled Skywalker along. They entered the doorway Vader had indicated. T5-168 had nearly stopped, it opened up to a long corridor. 'Lord Vader's personal quarters are huge. I had no idea. He must mean this room, this side door is open'. They walked in. It was a living space, couches and chairs in dark red on thick white carpet, with a huge viewport to the open space behind it. You could see the stars winking, out in the darkness.  
  
The other Stormtrooper undid the prisoner's binders, while T5-168 kept an eye on him. They backed away from the prisoner together, both eyes on the potentially dangerous man. T5-168 noticed little things- the wave of the prisoner's hair as he looked out the viewport, the softly lighted cabinet that held various drinks behind him.  
  
They left the room, walked out to the exit.  
  
Darth Vader was standing there, seeming to stare through the walls at where his prisoner waited.  
  
"Leave now. I want no disruptions."  
  
/  
  
T5-168 was cleaning his armor after the day's work. He always polished it every night. The bridge officers were pickier than most about appearances. T5-168 noticed a stray blond hair that had gotten on the armor. He picked it up with one finger, held it to the light. 'Skywalker's. It must be, it's on the right side.' Not knowing why, T5-168 let himself find a small plass bag in his kit. Dropped the hair inside. He put the bag away. 'Well, it is a trophy. No one else but the Dark Lord will probably get that close to him for as long as that Rebel continues to live.' T5-168 turned to his best friend and bunkmate T5-169.  
  
"Hey, nine." They used nicknames when off duty. They had graduated from training together, each forced into service from different worlds. Somehow, mere chance really, they had been stationed together for three years now.  
  
"Yeah eight." Nine was putting the finishing touches on his helmet.  
  
"Today was weird." They often had shift together. Today was no different. They had walked side by side, Skywalker between them.  
  
"No kidding."  
  
"Thought that kid was nothing, that it had to be some fluke."  
  
"Yeah. Turned into a man. Never knew the Rebel Scum could have such pride."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
They were silent for awhile. T5-168 wanted to ask his friend a question, but was weighing the risks. He decided to go ahead. Nine wouldn't say anything to anyone, and they were alone.  
  
"Nine."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What do you think it would be like- to have a commander like that?"  
  
Nine just looked at him.  
  
"I mean, I'd never say those things to our commander if I was where those Rebel pilots were at." Actually, that was more than painfully true. Eight and nine had spent a large part of their last leave competing against each other for the most colorful name for their commanding officer. They each hated him with a passion. He was truly incompetent, and had bribed his way to his current position.  
  
"I dunno, Eight. Never thought about it."  
  
They were silent again.  
  
"Hey, eight."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Do you think he was speaking the truth at dinner? About the Imperial Retributions?"  
  
"Probably not." Nine tapped his foot in the signal they had worked out on leave, indicating agreement. You couldn't be too careful on this ship.  
  
"Yeah, you're probably right." Eight scraped his foot back.  
  
/  
  
Luke stood behind the couch, hands on the backrest, looking at the stars. At least he could see the stars.  
  
"Leave now. I want no disruptions." The mechanical voice grated behind him. The Stormtroopers left, the door sealed behind them.  
  
Luke wondered if the troopers felt pity. He wondered if he was feeling pity for himself. He felt numb, like it was all unreal. Maybe he would wake up soon. He had nightmares about being caught by Imperials often enough. Just about every combat personnel in the Alliance did. And he had an amazing price on his head. His squad had been proud of that- carried it around like a badge. 'Our commander is the most wanted man in the Galaxy.' He had overheard the boast more than once, when they didn't know he was listening. His squad- his squad was dead. Luke wanted to scream in rage, but he didn't want to give the black form behind him the satisfaction.  
  
"You are not dreaming, I can assure you." The voice grated. The measured tread stalked into the room.  
  
Luke swallowed, steeling himself as best he could for the coming ordeal. He could not physically attack the Dark Lord, the man was armed, and a much better fighter. Luke could only fight back with words.  
  
The respirator hissed. "I have been waiting for this day for a long time."  
  
Luke let an ironic smile cross his lips. "At least one of us is having a good day."  
  
Darth Vader was very pleased. 'He can keep his head in a bad situation. And his men had been extremely loyal. He will be a good leader, once given the proper direction.' He said, "I was most disappointed in your men, they should have lasted longer."  
  
Skywalker turned, snarling. "They didn't want to give you the pleasure."  
  
The dark shadow stood by the closed door to the room, a black monolith of stone, with a few blinking lights on its chest. "Rebel Scum are weak, undisciplined. They could not have lasted longer if they tried."  
  
"They are loyal! Are your own men so dedicated to you? Or do they just fear the monster that rules them?"  
  
Vader felt the first prickling of anger. He was well aware that the crew of this ship hated him, and only followed him for fear of their lives. He growled back. "At least their loyalties are based on truth, your entire loyalty to the Rebel's cause is based on lies."  
  
"Truth? Lies? The Empire does nothing but lie!" Skywalker took a step towards the Dark Lord, fists balling in rage.  
  
"And I did not kill your father." The mechanical voice hissed, venom in its soft grating rumble. "But Kenobi told you that. And he sent you to the Rebels, that you might fight the Empire, and me."  
  
Skywalker stepped back, confused. He had not expected this turn in the conversation.  
  
"You were right at dinner, you know." Vader continued, reasonably, "You should have been an Imperial. Your father would have wanted it."  
  
"You knew my father." It was a statement, not a question. "But you said that he might not be dead." Luke's eyes narrowed, this could all be a game. "So what is your version of what happened to him?"  
  
The helmet cocked sideways, "Yes, I knew your father." Vader paused, he would have to be careful, it was too soon to tell the boy. "Someday, you may find him. Then you can ask him yourself."  
  
"I suppose you would tell me that you two were best of friends." Skywalker snarled, refusing to completely believe the Dark Lord. He turned around, walking off. Threw himself in an overstuffed chair, glaring at the dark form near the doorway. It was probably rude to sit down while the Imperial Lord stood, so Skywalker was going prick him anyway he could.  
  
Darth Vader looked at his son. 'He needs to feel more rage. He smothers his emotions too well'. "No. I would not say that." The Dark Lord turned, starting to walk around the couch, towards Luke. "But I am curious." The Dark Lord reached behind his cloak, taking out the lightsaber hidden there. Luke's eyes fell on the metallic handle, instantly recognizing it. "How well do you know how to use this blade?"  
  
The Dark Lord tossed the blade at the table in front of Luke. Surprisingly, it bounced once and came to rest directly in front of the Rebel. Skywalker snatched it up, hastily looking it over, feeling the minute scratches that he knew so well on his father's blade. Darth Vader smiled behind his mask, his son felt the same intense pull towards him that he felt. Luke just didn't know the whole story yet. The boy would come around, soon enough.  
  
Skywalker was judging if he should attack. He might get lucky and kill the Dark Lord, he probably wouldn't. But it could easily be his best and only chance. Even if Darth Vader seemed to be playing with him, only wishing to toy with him by giving him this chance.  
  
The black form rumbled. "The young one- Nelson, wasn't it? I think that if I would have taken the time, he would have broken and died cursing you."  
  
Luke forgot caution, and lunged at the Dark Lord. Vader easily brought his blade up to block. He would have to be careful. If Luke got lucky, he would be injured, perhaps fatally. Jedi normally used practice blades against each other for training. Specially designed lightsabers that did not cut through flesh. Using a regular lightsaber was foolish and stupid. You could injure yourself or your partner, and you knew it. This restriction caused a Jedi to pull his blows in training, to restrict his strength. And what you did in training, you did in battle.  
  
Luke swung again, wide and uncontrolled. Vader's suspicions were confirmed- Luke didn't have hardly any Jedi training at all. He rumbled at the boy "Control your swings more, you'll never get to me that way." Luke narrowed his arc, trying to get past Darth Vader's guard, failing miserably.  
  
"Now, you should always be prepared to block, your opponent can fight back you know." Darth Vader suddenly shifted, and bashed down with an overhand swipe. Luke barely got his blade up in time, but was smashed to the floor, sprawling.  
  
Skywalker warily picked himself up, eyes on the Dark Lord. It was a game, and he was painfully outmatched. Luke wondered if he should fall on his own blade while he had the chance- avoid the torture that the Imperial Lord would eventually dish out to him.  
  
The Dark Lord could feel the string of Luke's thoughts. "Are you a coward Rebel? Have you not wanted a chance to strike me down? I am giving it to you. Or are you too afraid of what might happen to you tomorrow? Your Rebellion's princess learned to fear me, only too well."  
  
Luke suddenly snarled in rage and threw himself at the Darth Vader. Growling he lashed out with the bright blade, throwing caution to the wind. Lord Vader continued to parry, only occasionally striking out.  
  
"You are better when you are angry. Now, try to add a few underhand cuts as well." The Dark Lord demonstrated, having to pull his swing short or he would have buried his blade in Luke's side.  
  
Luke staggered back, acutely aware of how close he had come to death. 'He's playing with me!'  
  
Darth Vader merely hissed at Luke, "Next" in the same voice he had used in the interrogation room.  
  
Luke brought his blade up, remembering his squad. His eyes found the rage he had been unable to unleash before, while he had been bound and helpless. He struck again and again, twisting the blade over and under, probing inexpertly for a hole in Vader's undefeatable defenses. Lord Vader would strike back, finding the times Luke least expected it. Sending him sprawling more than once. They began to circle the room. Occasionally the Dark Lord would make a suggestion for Luke's technique.  
  
Vader watched his son as they fought, his mind firmly on the here and now, trying to judge the strength of every blow and counterstrike. Carefully shepherding the deadly game, using the Force to predict every move. Luke stumbled, pulling himself up by throwing himself back. The boy was clearly exhausted, his eyes blurry and limbs stiff. 'It has been a long day for him'. The Dark Lord reasoned. 'And he seems unable to draw on the Force to support his strength. His control and connection with the Force is weak as well'. Vader lunged forward, hitting Luke with a blinding barrage of thrusts that resulted in Luke's lightsaber flying across the room.  
  
Luke sagged to his knees as Darth Vader reached out into the air, lightsaber flying into his hand. Luke kneeled there, panting before the Dark Lord, while Vader returned the blades to his belt.  
  
The door swished open. Luke looked up to see the protocol droid from the medical bay was waiting in the doorway. It came into the room, mincing steps reminding Luke of C3PO.  
  
"Cee-five. Show him his room." The Lord Vader walked out.  
  
The droid waited until Luke staggered to his feet, then his prissy voice said "This way sir, I will show you to your room."  
  
Luke was lead back into the long corridor, the Dark Lord nowhere in sight. They walked down the hall, turned into another hall, walked further. Luke was nearly falling from exhaustion, wishing the walk would come to an end. They turned into a bedroom. It was large, a huge bed with black and blood red linens in one corner. A desk, some chairs, a couch sat on the other side. All in the same blood red and black color scheme.  
  
Luke walked over to the bed. The black sheets had a faint red pattern on them, swirls looking like flying birds. Luke ran his hand over the sheets, they were smooth silk.  
  
"Sir? Would you like help with your boots?"  
  
"Huh?" Luke turned to the droid. "Oh, sure." Luke normally wouldn't bother to ask a droid for help in such a little task, but he was exhausted. The droid walked over to Luke, who sat on the bed. The droid bent down and removed each boot, unzipping the sides and then pulling with both hands.  
  
"Sir, the fresher is through that door. I will be here if you need me." The droid walked to the corner of the room, turning to face Luke, and powered down.  
  
Luke staggered to the fresher, washing his face. He stumbled back to his bed and fell into the silken softness. 'I should make a plan to get out of here. I should escape. I should-' Luke fell asleep, exhaustion claiming him.  
  
/  
  
While the room was darkened in the deepest night, its slumbering occupant fought nightmares. Skywalker was tossing in a dream, dark phantoms chasing him through the stary fields of space. The door faintly swished open, and a shadow entered. The faint hiss of its respirator whispered in the air, as it walked to the bed.  
  
"Shhh.." A black gloved hand caressed Luke's forehead. "I won't ever hurt you." The tossing stopped. "You are mine again, my son. You have nothing to fear." The black glove reached out, cupping one cheek, before the shadow pulled back, leaving the room.  
  
/ 


	4. Chapter 4

Frozen - Chapter 4 'Ahhh.. Warm at last..' The thought floated to the top of Skywalker's mind as he snuggled down into the smooth sheets. He barely registered the deep throated hum of the ship's engines beneath him. All that mattered was the warmth seeping into him. After months of fighting the deep chill of the ice caverns of Hoth, he was happy to drift in warm sleep. His bones no longer ached from the cold, his eyes no longer stung from the wind-blown ice, and he could feel his fingers. He drifted off to sleep again; feeling safe, secure, and protected.  
  
Later, he idly wondered if he had died and gone to the paradise he had heard one of the Rebellion freedom-fighters talking about. He felt like he was in paradise- the sheets felt incredibly soft as he groggily ran a hand over them. The engine of the ship was running smoother than any Rebellion ship he had ever ridden on, its deep rumble an effortless bass note deep in the deck. Even the air smelled clean, it wasn't saturated with the smell of old lubricant and too many beings crammed into one ancient ship. And he was warm; wonderfully, beautifully, fantastically warm. 'We finally got off Hoth.'  
  
A dagger of reality began to tear at Luke's peace.  
  
'Got off Hoth.' he whispered, his eyes snapping open.  
  
He sat up, the silken sheets tangling around him as the confusing cascade of memories pouring back into his concousness, rearranging themselves into the events of the past day. Or was it two days ago? He could tell that he had slept a very long time.  
  
The lights in the room slowly came up. He noticed things he had not noticed last night against the thick fog of his exhaustion. A dresser, a mirror, a desk with chairs all in black. The furniture had razor sharp lines that whispered a quiet beauty. A closed door on one wall that led off somewhere else was on his left, the door to the hallway and fresher on the right. He noticed paintings on the walls. Luke glanced at one, he had sworn that at first he could see the Imperial symbol in the abstract design, but now it was gone. There was a sculpture in plass in one corner, black translucent feelers, looking like some underwater weed, reached for the ceiling with red and blue splashes of color. The furnishings were severe, almost painfully so, but they screamed credits to Luke. From the sharp lines of the furniture to the delicate brushes of paint on the pictures, everything whispered wealth, at a level that was totally alien to Luke.  
  
Luke untwisted himself from the sheets, meaning to explore. His feet sunk into the deep carpet. 'If the Empire can afford this for prisoners- how come we can hold up against them?' Luke asked himself, suddenly amused. Nothing of his treatment so far was expected, it was so bizarre as to be unreal. He was beginning to think he would wake up, half frozen, back on Hoth at any minute.  
  
/  
  
Darth Vader had kept one mental eye on Luke all day. Lord Vader had went about his work of leading the twelfth fleet, one part of his brain always on the back bedroom of his extensive private suite. After that first bout of nightmares, Luke had slept on, letting the warmth of the ship sooth his tired body. The young Skywalker's sense of danger completely dispelled- something deep within Luke's brain realizing he was perfectly safe.  
  
Vader smiled unseen behind his mask as he walked the halls from the bridge to his chambers at the end of the day. 'You remember me my son, some part of you remembers me.' Vader thought back to the first time he had held his infant son. Days old, the tiny little life had seemed so fragile. Vader, then Anakin Skywalker, had taken the boy into his arms and held him close. He had smiled down at the boy, who had been sleeping. They, the two of them, had been in the garden at the Jedi temple, under a large shady tree. Anakin had rocked his little boy, willing to take the time from his busy schedule to just hold his child, nothing more. And then Luke had woke.  
  
Anakin Skywalker had felt the little brush of fear, of worry. What if his boy started to cry? He was a new father, and not familiar with the tricks of the trade. But Luke had just looked up at him. Days old, the little infant had smiled and reached out with the Force- effortlessly bonding with Anakin. 'Your instinctive control was unbelievable, my son. You don't have my brute strength, but you will be able to move with the Force in subtle ways that I can't even begin to fathom.' Just a little training, and Luke would leap forward in his understanding of the Force.  
  
Vader frowned as he entered his chamber, dismissing the guards. That had been the last time he had seen Luke. Situations and circumstances had intervened, and Luke and been torn away from him. Their bond had been stretched and broken, leaving Vader wanting the son stolen from him.  
  
Young Skywalker was waking up, his feelings of security dispelling under the influence of what he thought to be truth. Vader almost sighed in frustration. He wanted his son to be his again, and he wanted him back now- but Lord Vader knew he would have to go slow.  
  
/  
  
"Wedge, any word?" It was Hobbie, his voice low.  
  
Wedge looked out over the landing bay of Home One. Wedge blinked back tears, as he sucked in a breath and then let it out nosily. "No. Command promoted me this morning to Rouge One. They. they haven't heard anything from our spies either- so the rest of the Rouges are presumed dead in battle."  
  
"Damn. All of them?" Hobbie asked, he wanted to be sure.  
  
"Yes. Command claims that the Empire would have been throwing a party on the holonet news releases if they even had Skywalker's- Luke's- body. So they assume that he died in battle."  
  
"What? The Empire doesn't know Skywalkers' gone missing?" Hobbie scoffed. The Empire had been trying to find their Commander for over a year now, but the Alliance had always kept him carefully hidden.  
  
"Apparently. Commander Skywalker's bounty is still posted by the Empire. Maybe they don't know." Wedge was silent. "Hobbie, I know that he's dead- but something keeps telling me otherwise. I keep expecting to hear from him, I. I don't know what to think."  
  
"I know Wedge. He was untouchable. All those dogfights- that mess he pulled us out of above F'llean- everything. I can't believe it either." 


	5. Chapter 5

Frozen - Chapter 5  
  
'It doesn't make any sense.' Luke thought, pacing the room. The weeks had past, and he was just as confused by the Dark Lord's behavior as he had been in the beginning. 'Look at this-' his eyes scanned the suite, falling on the fine furnishings, the exquisite art. 'The artwork is nothing but originals. I don't know about the furniture, but it is expensive. I've been given an extensive wardrobe. I can tap into the holonet, only Imperial approved sites, but still. And he. he's been almost friendly.' Skywalker grimly smiled. 'Well, if you think driving me to exhaustion with a practice blade, locking me in his quarters, and questioning me about my past is friendly, then yes, he has been friendly.' Luke frowned, rubbing a small burn on his shoulder from the practice blade. The blade didn't injure, but it did leave welts. 'And trying to make me angry- but I think that has more to do with the training he's trying to give me.'  
  
The young man twisted himself away from that thought. He knew that a Jedi could not learn to be a Jedi from a Sith- but what else could he do? No one else could teach him, and he was a prisoner. He had looked for anything, any shred of information on the Jedi, on someone who could teach him, after Ben had died- been killed- but he could find nothing. It was frustrating, knowing that a whole new world of abilities lay just out of reach, just because no one could show him the way. Luke yearned for that knowledge, and here it was, being thrust upon him. Why should he argue?  
  
'But it doesn't explain why he's been friendly. He ought to want to kill me. But I can't sense any hatred from him toward me at all, and I've usually been able to sense people's true feelings. It. It has to do something with my father, he said as much that first day.' Luke pondered. 'Well, let's see. He knew my father, but they were not friends, but Vader must feel a responsibility towards me because of him. He seems to be trying to "reform" me.' Luke cast his thoughts across all the relationships he had known, trying to find the parallels. He shuddered, thinking of two B'rrillians he had known in the Rebellion. One was older than the other, and he kept trying to keep his younger nephew in line. 'What if, what if we are related?' Luke could feel the goose bumps forming on his body. 'It's possible, I don't know much about my family at all. It would explain a lot.' Luke fingered the sleeve of his finely woven shirt, eyes tracing the graceful curves of the sculpture in the corner. 'But I'm not going to ask him. No, I'll ask the Force.'  
  
Luke looked grim. He did not like meditating in the Force, the anger was hard to maintain and it left him feeling dirty. But he needed to know. Briefly, he thought about using the lightside, but pushed the idea away. He didn't know how, and Darth Vader had been downright viscous in the one practice session where he had brushed against the peace found there. Skywalker didn't think it was safe to try using the lightside in these quarters.  
  
Luke settled down into one of the black overstuffed chairs in the sitting room. He set the large view screen to show the stars- the Executor was parked around some Imperial world right now, and the view was peaceful as ships ferried up supplies to the large warship to replenish her stores.  
  
Skywalker debated what to be angry about. He was not near proficient enough in use of the darkside to call up anger for no reason. 'Well, no one has even tried to rescue me yet. Either Rebel intelligence is so pitiful as to not know I'm here, or they are too scared to come get me.'  
  
/  
  
Darth Vader watched his son ungracefully slip into the meditation. Lord Vader was on the bridge, listening to another worthless report from his Admiral. He cut the man short, telling him to do whatever he thought was required, and stalked off the bridge and back to his quarters. He was rather surprised that Luke would chose such a topic to strengthen his anger, but he wasn't about to complain. Or inform the boy that he had gone through a lot of trouble to hide Skywalker's survival of Hoth from the Rebellion. They thought he was dead. And Vader had taken the time to have evidence planted on Hoth to enforce that 'fact', if anyone should ever look.  
  
But now, his son would finally know. No more skirting the issue, or putting it off. Today, his son would finally learn of his future, at his side.  
  
/  
  
Luke plunged himself down through the years of his memory, using the Force to search his own past. He struggled to maintain his anger.  
  
FlashFlashFlashFlashFlashFlash Skywalker, the man, lay sleeping in his bed on the Executor. He was tossing in nightmares. Luke was puzzled as he tried to distract himself. He remembered no nightmares on this ship. Then a dark figure slipped into the room, walking over to his prone form. A gloved hand caressed his brow, and Luke quieted. "Rest, my son. You are safe here. I would never hurt you."  
  
Anger vanished, shock shattering concentration, the trance slipped from Luke. He stared at the stars, watching the Imperial shuttles restock the ship's stores. His father's ship. "My father is Darth Vader. Imperial Lord." He whispered.  
  
It made sense. He hadn't felt truly afraid since that first night. He had been practically protected from the other Imperials by Vader. And he was being trained, which no one but a father would have done for a son who had been so active in the Rebellion. Luke could feel a smile tug his lips, he was already feeling the pull towards the father he never knew. He had found himself almost completely unable to maintain fear of the Dark Lord, it kept slipping through his fingers like dry sand. But why did Ben lie to him?  
  
The door quietly swished open. Luke didn't need the faint hiss of the respirator to know who it was. A firm hand reached over the chair, grasping his shoulder. Luke let one hand rise up, covering the gloved fingers. He could feel the gauntlet, smooth armor held together by rough woven fabric.  
  
He stood, pulling away from the hand, from the silent figure. He let his gaze rest on the stars- even if it was just screen. "I. I." he whispered suddenly ashamed, "I was told that."  
  
"I know." The voice rumbled. "You were told everything they could think of in order that you would hate me. It was important that you hate me- you were to be trained to kill me. No one else had the strength in the Force to do it."  
  
"And I," Luke was rapidly becoming bitter and angry as he began to see the extent of Ben's betrayal, "joined the Rebellion to avenge my father's death. What a fool I was believing every word that old man told me."  
  
"Obi-wan lied to many people. He lied to me, he lied to you. I think he even lied to Owen and Beru Lars. He did whatever he wanted to set things up for my eventual death, since he was unable to do it right the first time."  
  
"No." Luke gritted his teeth, "Owen knew. He knew who I was, and he told me that my father was a nobody pilot who died in a stupid accident, shipping spice. And Kenobi told him to tell me that." Luke didn't know where that last bit of information came from, but he knew it was true. The Force was whispering to him, a darkness that was pulling ever closer.  
  
Darth Vader could feel the darkside pulling closer to his son, it was telling him things now- whispering truths that would not normally be available to someone of his level of training. A little more anger, and it could claim his son. "You needed to hate me. Obi-wan was unable to kill me, even if he was responsible for these injuries."  
  
Luke's head snapped around. Obi-wan's words during the fight "No, I will take your wife and child from you, for their protection. Even if I have to hide them forever." Were coming through the Force, whispering their betrayal. Luke's jaw clenched as he saw, through the Force, the extent of his father's injuries.  
  
"And, he stole me. And he broke our bond. Years. I've lost years. And he." Luke's face was flushing red in anger.  
  
Vader stepped around the chair, hand reaching for Luke. It brushed his face. "Luke, reach with the anger. Touch the Force." Vader whispered, voice hissing. Furious, Luke did as he was told.  
  
The Darkside responded, lunging at Luke like a panther, burrowing itself into him. The power leapt through Luke, burning with a dark fire. Luke screamed, it was like every nerve in his body had been turned all the way up, to full sensitivity. His eyes registered brightness to the point of pain, his ears heard every faint noise as great blasts of overwhelming sensation, and every nerve in his skin felt every point of pressure as firmly as a knifepoint cutting his skin.  
  
Darth Vader caught Luke as he fell, the intense fire of the darkside leaving his boy, its mark firm upon him. Vader let himself slide to the floor, Luke still in his grasp. His son was weak and gasping, disoriented from the recent unexpected ordeal.  
  
"What?" Luke mumbled, coming around. Vader waited, as Luke's consciousness refocused. Lord Vader smiled as his son did not pull away, content to rest in his arms, awaiting his explanation. He brushed a hand against Luke's brow, still smiling. His. His son- now and forever- here on the darkside. Nothing would pull them apart now. Darth Vader could see with the Force the mark upon his son. That old torn part of him, wounded from the breaking of the Force-bond between him and Luke, shifted. Small feelers began to search for Luke again.  
  
"Initiation." Darth Vader explained. "The darkside has claimed you. The experience does hurt, but it does not harm. I will admit, it is possible to be claimed one small step at a time, but this way is better. You will be able to train faster now, and have a greater sensitivity to minute tremors in the Force."  
  
"I had to ask to do the initiation." Darth Vader continued, his voice grating. "The darkside is different my son. It can be reasoned with, unlike the light. I think it is because it is more powerful." Reasoned with- but just barely. It was like forcing a star to move.  
  
"Oh." Luke said, still fuzzy. "Initiation?"  
  
Vader bit his lip, unseen behind the mask. His son would not quite understand the necessity of this, not right away, but it had to be done. "Sith. You're Sith now, and my apprentice." Darth Vader felt his son flinch, even as Luke tried to suppress it. Not surprising, considering his upbringing. He would come around. "It can't be undone. There is no turning back. We are together now." Vader stated, and Luke accepted it, wanting nothing more than the family he had never felt he had.  
  
"You better rest. We can train tonight, but I have to get back to the bridge." Vader's voice took on an ominous note, " My latest Admiral is worthless."  
  
/  
  
Han Solo flung himself awake, tearing himself from the nightmare. He looked around his cabin on the Milinium Falcon, half expecting to see Darth Vader appear from the shadows.  
  
'Oh, that was a bad one.' Han shivered, pulling on his pants and shirt. He didn't want to go to sleep after that. Better go check out the Falcon's navcomp or something. The hyperdrive was out, and they should get to Bespin in a few weeks, but he didn't want to be on this trip longer than he had to. The princess was being impossible, and confusing. Hey, if she wanted a tumble in the sack, why not be a little more up front about it? And if she wanted more than that, why not just say it? All this talk about 'commitment to the Alliance' seemed like confusing subliminal signals.  
  
'Women. Why don't they just speak Basic?' Han grumbled as he headed for the cockpit.  
  
Han walked into the cockpit, Chewbacca was already there, carefully checking circuits. Chewie moaned.  
  
'What? Oh, I couldn't sleep. Bad dreams." Solo replied. A gruff warble. "No, I was not dreaming of. our passenger. I had a dream about Luke." A questioning snort.  
  
Han answered slowly. "It wasn't a good dream, that's for sure. Luke was being tortured by Vader." Solo shivered at the memory. "He was screaming, and- this was the funny part- they weren't in a cell. They were in a room, and Vader was holding Luke."  
  
Chewie responded with a cascade of sounds.  
  
"Hey, I don't think it was my cooking!" A grunt. "Yeah, the kid's probably fine. We can joke about it when we get back to together."  
  
/  
  
Luke woke from his brief nap, yawning in his silken bed. He opened his eyes, grinning at the ceiling. Everything felt so right. He almost giggled, it shouldn't feel right. It shouldn't feel good at all.  
  
He got up, and walked into the next room, flicking on the view-screen. The small shuttles were still replenishing the supplies of the mighty warship. Luke let his eyes travel over the scene, basking in the power of his father shown in so mundane a task.  
  
He quickly turned back into his bedroom, heading for the fresher as he striped, dropping clothes on the floor. A quick shower, maybe a bite to eat. He wanted to be ready for tonight's training. He grinned as he noted the changes in his attitude. It was more than finding his father. He could sense the swirling energies of the darkside caressing him, but they no longer felt tainted, like they had before. Power, and all its glory, traced seductive fingers along his thoughts as the hot water pummeled his body.  
  
Luke got out of the shower, picking up a thick towel. Water dripped over the floor as he dried himself. Once dry, he dropped the towel, swiping at the fogged mirror. He grinned again, wondering if he looked different.  
  
No, his face was the same. He swiped the mirror again, and started in shock. There was a mark on his chest. A closer look, and a strange angular glyph was revealed. About as big as the palm of his hand, it was placed right over the center of his chest, over his heart. It was black, and seemed to be seared right into his skin.  
  
'The darkside has claimed me.' Luke thought. 'No turning back.' Somehow he knew that this glyph was Sith.  
  
/  
  
The throne room was dark, back walls mocking the little light that trickled down from above. Stale air swirled around the two figures walking down from the throne. One was an aged man in a black robe. Yellow eyes peered out from the huge cowl, wrinkled lips grimaced in displeasure. The other man was black, his tight curly hair white with age, his skin weathered and worn. He was wearing a bright red military uniform and was helping the aged Emperor walk down the stairs.  
  
"Your majesty, if I may ask a question concerning Skywalker?" The red-clad man asked.  
  
"You may." Came the whispered response.  
  
"It is my understanding that the young boy has been turned from his Jedi ways- Lord Vader's report seemed to indicate as much. Yet the dark lord has not brought the man here, to prove the young one's loyalty- and it has been months. I am concerned for your safety. Is there anything you need done?"  
  
"Heh. You and your Protectors should always be concerned for my safety. That is your reason for existing, my friend." The venomous hiss came from the black hood. "But I have chosen to let Lord Vader train his Jedi brat in the ways of the Sith. The darkside powers will shape the young man into the perfect Imperial."  
  
The black man's face became clouded with worry. "Excuse me, your majesty- but is that wise? I have never been convinced of Lord Vader's complete loyalty. And the two might become allies."  
  
The Emperor shrugged, a weak movement of the shoulders. "The Sith teachings will make the boy hunger for power. When he is trained, I will make him an offer that he won't refuse. Lord Vader will die. And I will have a fresh, young Lord of the Sith to carry out my will."  
  
The Captain of the Imperial Sovereign Protectors didn't say a word. As a rule, he did not judge his majesty's plans.  
  
"However," the aged one whispered, "it is time for some of your new blood to go on another training exercise, isn't it? Perhaps they could keep an eye on things while they are there- since Lord Vader will be bringing his son home. Quite the joyful reunion I imagine."  
  
The black man grinned. "Yes, your majesty. High time indeed."  
  
/  
  
The Admiral stood at attention in Vader's quarters as he gave his lord the final report before Lord Vader left to visit his castle. "The repair crews for the routine maintenance are boarding now, my lord. We should be done with this minor refit within thirty days."  
  
"Very well. Contact me if there are any major problems." The rasping voice of Dark Lord grated from the unmoving form.  
  
A door in the back of Vader's audience room swooshed open, startling the Admiral. He hid it well, but was unable to stop himself from glancing at the cause of the disruption. He had always wondered what, or who, Vader kept in his private chambers. The Admiral had heard several rumors, from dancing girls to the rotting corpses of Lord Vader's enemies. Considering no one had seen the Rebel pilot since he entered, the Admiral was beginning to believe the later.  
  
The Rebel pilot himself stepped out, his clothes neat, his back straight. The Admiral tried to focus his eyes back on the Dark Lord, but he was too fascinated by what he saw. 'The man is still alive?' Was all he could think. 'How long has it been? And he looks undamaged, but.'  
  
"Admiral," the mechanical voice cracked, "escort Skywalker down to my shuttle. I will join him shortly."  
  
The Admiral bowed and motioned to the Rebel to precede him out the door, his mind burning with curiosity. They walked down the corridor together, both silent. As they entered the turbolift to the hangar, the Admiral cleared his throat.  
  
"So, have you enjoyed Lord Vader's hospitality?"  
  
The Admiral couldn't begin to guess what the Rebel's response would be, but the slow smile was still a complete surprise. The smile grew into a hungry grin. "Oh," the Rebel softly said, "I have enjoyed myself immensely. Why if I had known, I would have surrendered long ago." The doors swished open, revealing the hangar. "The accommodations were quite exquisite, and the women were unbelievably friendly."  
  
As the Rebel walked out into the hangar, the Admiral belatedly following. The Rebel said one last thing before he walked onto the shuttle, his voice dripping with irony, "But Admiral, the trophies were a bit much."  
  
The Admiral found himself staring at the open doors to the shuttle, his mouth hanging open. He closed his jaw with a snap, and nervously looking around, then he began walking back to the bridge.  
  
/  
  
"Captain Solo- I-" words failed Wedge. The Millinium Falcon had touched down only hours ago. Because of their lack of contact with the Alliance, the three passengers and their droids hadn't known about Skywalker's death. Leia had gone to report to High Command, but Han and Chewie had stayed near their ship. It had taken them three months to get to Bespin and get the repairs the Falcon needed. Not to mention dodging Bobba Fett. But they had gotten back to the Alliance. They had landed, and Han had expected the blond boy to come running up, but instead, it had been Wedge, walking slowly.  
  
Wedge had felt the need to tell them, before they found out from someone else. He had taken Hobbie for support.  
  
"No." Han gruffly whispered. Chewie moaned, pulling Han close. Han tried to wave the giant furball off. "It's okay. It's war. It happens." Han leaned against his co-pilot, blinking tears, holding them in. "Damn kid. Always told him hot-shoting around would get him killed." Han sighed. "On Hoth? He never made it off?"  
  
"Yeah." Wedge mumbled.  
  
"You sure?" Han Solo asked, voice cold.  
  
"Command is. His bounty's still posted, and the Imperials are still looking for him. Command says they don't know."  
  
"In three months?" Han was incredulous.  
  
"We haven't made a general announcement." Wedge replied, trying to explain.  
  
"Our security is not that good." Han said.  
  
Wedge didn't argue, he felt the same way. Skywalker had been too important not to be noticed that he was gone by now.  
  
Han looked at Wedge, eyes holding something back. "How sure, Commander? How sure is Command?"  
  
"I-" Wedge said, feeling flustered.  
  
"I had a dream." Han whispered, dropped his head. Both Wedge and Hobbie exchanged worried glances. "Vader had him. In a room, with black furniture."  
  
Wedge and Hobbie flinched. Chewie warbled a question.  
  
"With strange art, and a view of the stars on one side?" Wedge whispered.  
  
Han's head snapped up. "The furniture was overstuffed black leather, and Luke was wearing black Imp boots. And black pants."  
  
"Blue shirt?" Wedge asked, face pale.  
  
"Couldn't see that. Vader was bending over him, holding him." Han replied, his voice shaking.  
  
"And Luke was screaming," Wedge said, eyes closing.  
  
"Vader was kneeling on the floor." Han whispered. He looked pale, so did Hobbie. Sudden silence stretched out.  
  
Finally, Hobbie broke the silence. "I think we need to talk to Command." 


	6. Chapter 6

Frozen - Chapter 6  
  
"What," the mechanical voice grumbled, "did you tell my Admiral? He was looking at me like I had grown a second head."  
  
Luke was standing up in the shuttle, one boot up on a seat as he leaned forward to look out the small viewport at the stars and the planet below. The soft rumble of the small craft's engines hummed in the space. The back of the shuttle held two rows of escort Stormtroopers who sat facing each other  
  
Skywalker flashed a wry grin at the black clad warrior seated on the large bench against the front of the passenger area. "Oh, he asked me if I had enjoyed my stay. I told him that the women were friendly, the accommodations were high class, but you had some strange trophies. I figure he'll believe me for a few days, but by the end of the week he won't know what to think."  
  
"You have a strange sense of humor my pilot."  
  
"Thank you, my lord." Both men could feel the rush of surprise in the Stormtroopers at the 'Rebel's' expressed loyalty to the dark lord. Skywalker smiled as he continued to look out the viewport as the shuttle dropped through the atmosphere towards the planet.  
  
The clouds parted, revealing a huge estate on the coastline, surrounded by forest. Gardens and tended fields of grass made a barrier between the wilderness and a huge stone castle that was set on a bluff, overlooking the sea. The walls of the castle shone of white marble. Spires reached for the sky, and the shuttle headed for the large open landing field paved with white marble flagstones off on one side.  
  
"So this is home." Skywalker said, and immediately felt another rush of surprise from the Stormtroopers.  
  
"Yes." Lord Vader rumbled. "I think you'll like it."  
  
The shuttle landed, and the Stormtroopers marched out, arraying themselves as an honor guard. Lord Vader strode out, cape billowing as Skywalker followed. The Stormtroopers stayed with the shuttle as the Dark Lord and his guest crossed the landing field to the waiting castle guards and attendants across the flagstones.  
  
None of the staff at Vader's castle had contact with the outside. It was common knowledge that once you were transferred to the castle, every person, regardless if it was a Stormtrooper or a housemaid, ever left. None of the Stormtroopers on the shuttle ever expected to see the Rebel pilot again as they filed back into the craft to ride back up to the Executor.  
  
/  
  
The shuttle was heading back up to the ship as the Stormtrooper unit commander called out "Full At Ease." Several of the troopers sighed in relief as they all pulled off their helmets.  
  
"Damn nine, did you see that? He broke him!" One of the troopers hissed at his partner beside him.  
  
"T6-168, that was the spookiest thing. Geeze, I bet he's turned that boy into a personal slave." T6-169 whispered back as he shuttered in his uniform.  
  
"He seemed happy enough about it." Another trooper whispered.  
  
"I dunno, you weren't on my side, you didn't see that mark." T6-168 hissed.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"He had a welt on his neck, right under the collar, right here." T6-168 pointed at the side of his neck covered by his bodyglove. "Who knows what he looks like under those fancy clothes. He could be covered in bruises."  
  
"Pipe down you gossiping old maids!" The unit commander yelled, "or you can put your helmets back on!" The shuttle quieted for the remainder of the ride.  
  
/  
  
The two figures reached the waiting house staff as the shuttle behind them rose into the air and left. Rows of house guards stood at attention, their uniforms matching those of Imperial Stormtroopers, except for the black diagonal stripes patterned across both shoulders. Behind them, close to the large wooden doors stood several men in red and black livery.  
  
Darth Vader reached the first row of Stormtroopers, and the uniformed men by the door knelt. They did not rise until Lord Vader had reached them and motioned for them to do so.  
  
The leader of the group bowed again and said, "My Lord, I was not aware that you were bringing more staff." The man was almost questioning in his tone, his voice was thin, but not annoyingly so. He had short brown hair that was beginning to thin by his temples, brown eyes, and a wire thin body.  
  
"Security reasons, Gerone. And he's not staff." The mechanical voice grated.  
  
"Ah. A guest then?" Gerone was disbelieving. Lord Vader never brought guests. Not that certain people didn't visit, but that was even a more guarded secret than the castle's location.  
  
"No." The voice was stern, but it dared Gerone to continue guessing.  
  
The thin man looked Luke up and down, noting the blond hair and the blue eyes. A creeping suspicion began to form in his mind, which he quickly suppressed. It wouldn't do to have his hopes squashed again.  
  
The respirator hissed again, saying a single name, "Luke Skywalker."  
  
Eyes widened and knees bowed, paying homage to the returning heir. A ripple of surprise and elation flew through the assembly. Luke blinked, stunned. He turned around, sensing the changed mood in the guards around him.  
  
"Son," the mechanical voice whispered, "they can't get up until you tell them to." Luke looked at the still kneeling men.  
  
"Oh." Luke breathed. "How do I do that?"  
  
Vader made a motion with his hand, and Luke copied it. The men rose, a strange emotion burning in their eyes.  
  
"Come, Luke," Vader said, voice somehow amused, "I want to show you something. And they need time to prepare your rooms."  
  
"Yes, father." Luke dutifully followed Lord Vader into the castle.  
  
/  
  
Maids, real, human maids, in black and white uniforms, pulled protective sheets off furniture and cleaned surfaces. A few were bringing in fresh linens and opening the wide glass windows to let in the fresh air. Gradually, a richly furnished room in black and red with dark wooden paneled walls was being revealed.  
  
Two men stood in the middle of the maelstrom of activity, grins plastered on their middle-aged faces. The shorter one, salt and pepper hair topping a round face, turned to his rake thin companion.  
  
"He found him Gerone, he found him."  
  
"Yes, Vincent, he did. I knew he would, it was just a question of when." The thin man was very sure of this fact.  
  
The first man sighed, patting his growing midsection. As the years had gone by, he had found it harder and harder to keep the weight off. His wife's excellent cooking didn't help. "And a question of weather or not he would still be worthy."  
  
That had been the biggest fear. That somehow the Jedi would have managed to put the baby in a situation that would warp him as he grew. When the word had come that the boy had been located, but in the Rebellion, the entire castle staff had almost gone into mourning. Only when Lord Vader revealed that his son did not know who he was, did hope manage to renew itself.  
  
"Yes, that was a concern. But I'm not worried about that anymore. Lord Vader used none of the code words he had given me to warn me of any difficulties. I suspect our young master may need some time to adjust to his new life, but everything is going to be fine."  
  
Vincent frowned, "he wasn't wearing a lightsaber."  
  
"True, but he had just gotten off the shuttle from the outside. Lord Vader may not have revealed his son's identity to the crew of his warship. Not all of them can be trusted, you know." Gerone's confidence could not be swayed. "He was probably still considered a prisoner. You don't arm prisoners."  
  
"You're right." Vincent nodded.  
  
"Now, you finish up here, I'm going to see if our lord needs anything. I know he'll want to explain everything in more detail to me tonight, and I need to call my wife and tell her I'll be home late."  
  
Vincent chuckled, "one of the few times she'll be happy about you coming home late, I'm sure."  
  
Gerone chuckled back at his long time friend as he headed out the door. Things were looking up, they were indeed.  
  
/  
  
Han Solo glared at Mon Mothna, his shoulders shaking with anger and grief. "Are you saying I'm lying?"  
  
"No." Came the calm reply. "I am not. But our resources are spread quite thin Captain, and sending a team back to Hoth to verify Commander Skywalker's death is risky and would provide very little return."  
  
"I owe it to the kid. If my dream- if our dreams- are correct, then I need to know." Solo was throttling down his anger, trying to remain rational.  
  
The older women sighed. "I understand Captain, I assure you I do. And I will admit, unlike others, that the dreams could be real. While Skywalker only had some Jedi training, the limits of his powers were never well defined."  
  
"But you still won't help."  
  
"I can't." The women had to put up a hand to restrain Solo's further protests. "I can not risk sending a team. However, I will authorize fuel and supplies for you and two X-wings, if you can find volunteers, to verify for yourselves. Will that do?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am!" Relief flooded through Solo, this was better than he had hoped.  
  
"And Captain Solo," the woman began to look very earnest. "Look very carefully, and keep an eye out. The probability that the Empire still retains some guard at our old base is still quite high."  
  
"I understand." Solo saluted as he left.  
  
As the doors swished shut, the still figure in the back of the room shifted. "Was that wise?"  
  
"Yes general, it was. Solo follows his heart, not his mind. His loyalty to our cause stems directly from that. He does not fight the Empire for moral or intellectual reasons, but because he loves his friends. While the heart is passionate, it is also fickle. So, I must indulge him."  
  
The general snorted his derision.  
  
"General, that passion is invaluable. Solo does everything he does with everything he has, he holds nothing back and cares for no odds. Very useful. He will search Hoth with more determination than any team I could send, and he will either confirm his fears or lay every doubt we have to rest."  
  
"You have doubts?"  
  
"Yes, I do. The half of the squad that disappeared did so without a trace. That makes me nervous. To lose half a dozen men in a pitched battle, yet no one saw it happen? They fought, they split up to head for their ships, and they never reached space. It is possible they were ambushed."  
  
"And what if they were, and Commander Skywalker is in some Imperial prison?"  
  
"We shall decide that when we know. I watch for trouble, general. I don't go looking for it." 


	7. Chapter 7

Han Solo checked the Falcon's sensors again as he gently let her down on the frozen ice-fields of Hoth. Outside, the sun had not yet risen, and the icy winds, laden with wind-blown snow, had reduced visibility to zero.  
  
"Wedge, Hobbie- scope said this should clear up in half an hour. Then we can search."  
  
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this Commander." Hobbie whined.  
  
"You want to know as well as I do. Besides, we'd just be running patrols elsewhere." Wedge replied.  
  
"But I'd be warm!"  
  
"You two have fun talking- we're going to change. Call if you pick up anything." Solo got up and patted Chewie, who followed him.  
  
* Our probe droids in orbit should give us warning if Imperials show up. * Chewie howled.  
  
"Yeah, furball. I hope so." Han shook his head as he began struggling into the heavy insulated pants and jacket for the trip outside. He had chosen to dress for the weather in the main room- it beat trying to walk around the ship wearing too much and sweating.  
  
"But Chewie, I can't decide." The wookie looked at Han, question in his eyes. "Do I want to find Luke, or not?"  
  
* Leave it to fate. *  
  
/  
  
Vader strode across the huge living room. It was filled with several clusters of chairs and sofas, all artfully carved and richly decorated in purple and green. His son was standing close to the large windows on the far side, looking out over the sea.  
  
"It's beautiful." He said as his father came up to him. "I can't help thinking how everything would have been different if I grew up here."  
  
"Blame Kenobi." The mechanical voice rumbled, not impatiently.  
  
Luke looked down at some of the servant's children playing outside, far beneath the window. A game involving chalked lines on white flagstones. Luke smiled. "He's dead. You know, when you killed him, I hated you for it. Now, I see why you did it. I'd stand behind you and help, today." Luke glanced back at the sky and the pounding surf.  
  
"So, why did you kill my squad?" Luke had no heat in his voice, he just wanted to know.  
  
Inwardly, Vader sighed. He had warned the Emperor, but the man wouldn't listen. His son Luke had a great deal of loyalty in him. Once that loyalty was turned towards the Empire, Skywalker would become a tremendous asset. Till then, Vader would have to tread carefully.  
  
"It helped you develop the anger you needed." True, Vader knew. But he almost hoped Luke could figure it out on his own, some small part of him wanted the hero worship of his son. That look of blind trust Luke had given him after Vader had helped him through initiation. Just let Luke know that the Emperor had ordered it. Let Luke blame him-  
  
"True. But was blind anger really wise?"  
  
Vader shifted. Luke had obviously been thinking about this. Dwelling on it. Which was not good, it could weaken the loyalty Luke could feel for the Empire. "It was more important to reach the short term goal of turning you, my son."  
  
"You are more patient than that. I've seen it. The Emperor told you to, didn't he?" Luke had learned quite quickly after the turning that the Emperor was personally interested in Luke's progress. "He ordered you." Luke whispered.  
  
Darth Vader wanted to swear. This was not good. Luke was loyal to him, Lord Vader, but it was obvious from the distaste radiating from the boy right now that Luke did not feel any loyalty towards the Empire, and especially not towards the Emperor. Not good at all.  
  
"Yes, he did. But I was glad to follow his orders."  
  
"Were you? Father," Luke turned towards the black masked monstrosity, stepping close, "I don't like you taking orders from anyone. I don't. Especially ones that might make me. upset with you."  
  
"Are you upset?" Vader asked, voice bland.  
  
"Not with you. I've had to follow orders myself before, orders I didn't like. And I'll follow your orders now, no matter what. But I just don't like you having to follow a man who is, well- beneath you."  
  
"The Emperor is not beneath me." The black mask stated.  
  
"He's not?" Luke asked, doubt in his voice. "Maybe before he was better than you, but I doubt it now. He makes too many mistakes."  
  
"He is not beneath me, Luke. Remember that." Vader stood there, forcing as much strength and assurance into the words as he could. Luke just stood there, looking up at him. Finally, Luke sighed and looked down.  
  
"I'll remember." He whispered, but inwardly Luke was thinking about how his father could be so blind sometimes. He, Luke Skywalker, would remember his father's weakness; that the Emperor seemed to have far too much control over his father's life.  
  
/  
  
"Damn, oh damn." Han Solo was staring across the blindingly bright snow basin. There, peaking out of the windswept plain were the broken shapes of X-wings. Right where Mon Mothna had said the Rouges's ships had been waiting. "Oh, damn, kid."  
  
Chewie howled agreement. It looked bad. * But Han, * Chewie howled as Solo turned to go, * we should check that he is here. *  
  
"Yeah," Solo mumbled, "Came this far."  
  
The slowly freezing pair began to walk from ship to broken ship. The ships had obviously been hit with enemy fire, the scorch marks visible even through the encrusting ice. Inside each cockpit was a frozen body, the orange flightsuits covering the shattered forms.  
  
Ice of a different sort was slowly forming in Han's gut. One ship left, and it bore Skywalker's markings. They walked up to it, slowly, fearing what lay inside. The ship was laying at a crazy angle, yawning sideways, cockpit close to the ground opposite the two rescuers.  
  
The cockpit had been hit directly with a burst of laser fire, the canopy was gone, and the inside was burnt. The body, if it could be called that, was nothing but a few charred remains. Chewie howled. Han just stared, numbly. Even last night, he had had another dream of Skywalker, this time the young man was looking out a large window. But Skywalker was here, he had been here, dead for months.  
  
Han Solo looked at the body again, and then suddenly leaned in, looking around.  
  
* What is it? * Chewie wolfed.  
  
"His lightsaber. I want it. As a reminder. Damn it, where is it? Kid always had it with him."  
  
* Maybe it was destroyed. *  
  
"Maybe. Doubt it, thing was pretty well built. Something would be left, most of the ship controls made it." Han suddenly pulled back. "Chewie," he asked, suspicions rising, "do you think that it is odd that the controls made it, but Luke's flightsuit is almost completely melted? Even down here, at his feet?"  
  
Chewie howled agreement, then added, * there is nothing left of his face, or his hands. This might not be him, especially if he was taken prisoner and they did not want us to know. *  
  
"A decoy?" Han's hopes rose. "Wouldn't put it past them. Well, I better take a tissue sample. Our labs can verify if it is him." Han contemplated the best way to get the sample. "Sorry kid, I mean no disrespect-" He mumbled, as he reached in and tried to pry a frozen slab of flesh loose. Chewie howled, reached in and yanked hard. The metal screeched, but the 'sample' came free.  
  
"Let's get out of here, furball. I'm freezing." Chewie carefully removed a plass bag from his belt, and dropping the 'sample' in, turned to Han and carefully phrased a question.  
  
"Artoo? The droid? He's frozen solid, you'll get nothing but scrap, even if you can pull his shell free." Chewie warbled. "Yeah, pull his brain, maybe it'll have info on Luke. The little mechanical would have still been operational then."  
  
Chewie woofed, and walked to the back of the fighter. A few well-placed blows, and the ice coating the silver and blue dome fell off in a sheet. Chewie banged on the droid's body, and the casing snapped from the cold, the whole cylinder sliding out. Chewie moaned, looking into the droid's socket, seeing the legs frozen to the fighter. He sighed, and picked up Artoo's body, Wookie strength easily balancing the mechanical on his shoulder.  
  
They walked back, and once out of the radio shadow of the basin, Han called Wedge and Hobbie. "Guys, I have bad news."  
  
"Sir?" Hobbie called back.  
  
"Found the Rouges. Or pieces of them anyway. I'll give you a rundown once we hit space, someone might be listening." Han made his voice as cold as possible. If Luke was being hidden by the Empire, he wasn't about to let them know he was onto their trick.  
  
"Gotcha, Captain." Wedge stiffly answered.  
  
/  
  
The head servant of the castle was trying to orient Skywalker about his new home. He, and several of the other servants, had shuffled Skywalker off after dinner, while Lord Vader saw to some datawork. Luke could tell that they were brimming with curiosity about him, but were afraid to ask. They had sat him down at a table and were proceeding to show him various maps and explain the average day's events. "And this is the map of the compound, Master Luke." The thin one, Gerone, told him as he handed over the sheet of colored plass.  
  
Skywalker's lips twitched at the term. He hadn't even begun to get used to people calling him 'Master Luke', it had always felt weird enough when Threepio did it. And Threepio was just a droid.  
  
Luke looked at the map. The castle was surrounded by gardens. The gardens closest to the master's rooms were mostly flower gardens. Back by the servant's quarters, the gardens grew local foodstuffs and herbs. There was an orchard, fields for Trings, fields for herds of dewbacks and banthas, a firing range, and a landing field for the supply shuttles.  
  
"We grow most of our own food, Master Luke. It helps with security, not to have too many supply shuttles coming in and out."  
  
"Of course." He picked up the map, studying it. "The guard's quarters are uncharacteristically large. I guess it pays to be selected to work here."  
  
"Of course, Master Luke. Once selected, the local guard can not leave. To compensate for that, many of them marry. Most of the maids are married to guard. The second generation is starting to come into the age where they can serve, you know."  
  
"Marry? I've never heard of a married Stormtrooper before. Bet it keeps them happier. They might even be able to shoot straight." Skywalker dryly replied.  
  
"Yes sir." Vincent winced, trying not to think what Skywalker would have done to Stormtroopers not a few months before.  
  
"Where are the patrol routes? I only see markings for the automated systems."  
  
"They don't patrol."  
  
"They don't?" Skywalker eyed the man with disbelief.  
  
"No need to, really. The automated system is state of the art."  
  
"Which one are you using?"  
  
"We just installed an Eco-Imager 3000 with bio-activation." Vincent beamed.  
  
"Huh. Me and three guys infiltrated a compound with one of those about six months ago. Retrieved the data and were heading out with no one the wiser till we ran into a patrol. Ended up having to blow half the compound up." Skywalker shrugged. "Nothing beats a living, breathing, human."  
  
The table went dead silent. Skywalker looked at each of them in turn. "Yes," he said, "I used to be a Rebel. I was living under the assumption that Darth Vader had betrayed and murdered my father. That is what the Jedi told me. And I am not going to apologize for my actions then. But I will learn from them and I refuse to pretend that it never happened."  
  
The men at the table digested this. They had not heard the whole story of what their lord's son had believed as a Rebel. The tale was bad, but they could see how the young man would change sides when he learned the truth. Also, Lord Vader's son seemed to have an iron will, and a complete lack of guilt for his actions. They could respect that. One of them, a man named B'lear, quietly said, "I am in charge of security. Do you wish patrols?"  
  
Skywalker looked at him. "Any attack would most likely come when Lord Vader was not here. It would most likely be for revenge purposes, or to make a point. I can take care of myself, it's your own hide you'd be guarding. Do what you will."  
  
/  
  
Wedge walked into the droid maintenance area looking around till he saw Han and Chewie standing over by a table. A casing stood on the table, dome removed, innards spread out underneath it.  
  
"It's like this," Han was telling the technician, "we have to get a reading off his memory banks as soon as possible. And I don't want any excuses."  
  
"They're shot. You'd be better off just buying a new droid."  
  
"Damn it, I need to know what's on that droid's memory banks."  
  
Wedge looked at the dismantled Astromech droid. "That was Luke's, wasn't it." He said.  
  
"Yes," Han growled, "Mon Mothna won't make it a priority, but I have to see if the little guy saw anything before the cold shut him down. I have to know."  
  
"We could interface the memory core with my Astromech." Wedge said.  
  
"Won't do much for you. Each droid has a personalized memory and encoding system." The tech explained. "You'll get data, but it will be too scrambled to use."  
  
"I've got his counter-part. Maybe Threepio could make some sense of it."  
  
"You're talking about a lot of work. And unless his counter-part is another astromech, you won't be able to use the data at all."  
  
"What about a three-way linkage?" Wedge asked.  
  
"Possible, if the second Astromech had interfaced with this one before and hadn't been memory wiped since. But without clearance, I'm not spending the time on it. I've got too much to do."  
  
Han cursed. Wedge just eyed the man. "You're from Alderaan, aren't you? I can tell from your accent." The tech gave Wedge a nasty glare. Many Aleraanians were trying hard to forget. "I wouldn't bring it up, but that's Skywalker's Astromech you've got there. We may have found a body on Hoth, but we have to be sure. I owe it to him."  
  
"Skywalker?" The tech whispered. "The rumors are true?"  
  
Han hissed, "we have not identified the remains yet. The tests will take a few days. I have to be sure. And we may end up needing this droid's memory."  
  
Wedge nodded and added, "my astromech used to talk to Artoo all the time. I stopped getting mine memory wiped when I saw how it improved Luke's fighter's response time."  
  
The tech nodded, thoughtfully, "I can only give it my free time. But I can get some others to help." The tech sighed. "Just answer me one question. Why didn't he shoot that thing down earlier?"  
  
Han gave the man a brief look of pity. Even Leia asked the same things sometimes, and she knew the whole story. "He flew an X-wing for the first time that mission. He had only been a member of the Alliance for a couple of hours. The galaxy is just lucky he was there at all."  
  
"The rest of the galaxy, you mean." The tech bitterly replied. "No, I don't blame him. And it did prove to a lot of people what we had been saying about the Empire all along. I just wish it hadn't happened."  
  
"Me too." Han said. "I remember Kenobi's reaction to it. We were lightyears away, and he still looked deathly sick." Solo reached out and squeezed the man's shoulder. "But can you do me a favor?"  
  
"Another one?"  
  
"Yeah. Keep this quiet. If the remains we found aren't Skywalker, then the Empire went through a lot of trouble to hide the fact that they have him. I don't want them finding out we're on to them."  
  
"Makes sense. I'll try." The tech said.  
  
"Thanks." Han said. "I'll bring Threepio right down. And Chewie, if you want his help. He's patched both droids up more than once, he's not that bad with droid maintence. You could give him directions and he could work while you attend to the rest of the stuff down here. Do you know Wookie?"  
  
"No. But I'll need someone familiar with the droid's systems, and he'd be perfect. And Commander," the tech asked Antillies, "send you Astromech down as soon as possible. And get yourself a replacement, this could take me a few days. But I'll tell you- there might be some personality bleed- over when I'm done."  
  
"That's all right. I always liked Artoo." Wedge shrugged his shoulders. "Especially how he handled Luke's fighter."  
  
/  
  
"Well, doctor, who is it?" The general growled, glaring at the black man in the white labcoat. Mon Mothna, Han Solo, Wedge Antillies, Hobbie, and even the Princess Leia had managed to get into the meeting to discuss the test results.  
  
"Sirs, ladies, I ran the tests on the, ah, tissue sample that Captain Solo brought back from Hoth and I have to say that the results were not one hundred percent definitive."  
  
"What do you mean?" Solo growled.  
  
"The genetics matched Commander Skywalker's file, but since I had been informed of the suspicions that it might be an Imperial decoy, I ran a test for tri-beta-chyline traces. The sample tested positive. This raises some doubts as to the exact nature of the remains."  
  
"The genetics match, and you have doubts?" Mon Mothna asked.  
  
"Clones, Madam President. Tri-beta-chyline is a chemical that is usually left in any clone body. It is a leftover from the accelerated growth process. If the Empire wished to trick us concerning Commander Skywalker's death, a clone would be an ideal solution. The chemicals left in any clone body are minute at best, and extreme cold and freezing destroys most of the chemicals. Tri-beta-chyline is one of the few chemicals that would survive freezing, but it is only found in the smallest of traces."  
  
"But," the President said, "If it was Skywalker's clone, then it must have been grown at an extreme rate. Wouldn't the chemical be present in higher amounts?"  
  
"Unfortunately," the doctor replied, "I can not in good faith state the traces of this chemical could not have been found in the body due to less sinister reasons. The contamination of the corpse from the melted flightsuit and canopy could give the test a false positive."  
  
"Yeah, the flightsuit." Han growled. "It was burnt all the way to his feet, even if the controls were perfectly fine."  
  
The doctor sighed. "Which would support the clone theory. The Empire only had an active presence on Hoth for a week. I checked the records. Therefore, the clone would have had to be grown in less than a week, which is very fast. It was most likely deformed, which would explain why it was so extensively burned."  
  
"A clone." Mon Mothna whispered.  
  
"I can not guarantee it." The doctor said. "I can not prove or disprove that the body found in Skywalker's ship was or was not a clone. The body was frozen, which did destroy any of the better chemical indicators that this was a clone."  
  
"Oh damn," Solo growled, "Vader has the kid."  
  
Mon Mothna looked at the general, then at Han Solo. "We do not know that Captain. We do not know that at all. And I realize that you and your Wookie friend are working on retrieving the information from Skywalker's R2 unit. But, I want you to stop."  
  
"What?" Han looked furious, but Leia put a hand on his arm.  
  
"You will tell a few people that the Astromech droid's memory was hopelessly scrambled. Antillies, you will complain that the procedure damaged your droid's memory as well. The three droids will be disconnected from each other, and then, quite quietly, they will be transferred to a more secure location."  
  
Han's eyes took on a gleam. How could he have doubted Mon Mothna?  
  
"Next, and this is the hardest part. I want the results of this meeting to be revealed, but only part of them. The remains found in Skywalker's fighter did match his genetic file. But I want no mention of chemicals or clones. Someone else is bound to bring up the issue of clones, at which point the doctor will reveal that he did test for such a possibility, and NO TRACES of anything was found. We have to act as if Skywalker is dead. In a week we will even hold a quiet memorial, and I want everyone to do their best acting."  
  
"Why?" Wedge fretted, "why do you want to bury this? We'll loose time."  
  
"Yes," said the general, "but letting Vader know we may even suspect would endanger Skywalker if he is still alive. That man is a crafty devil, and what he is trying to hide is worth finding. And if he thinks we have taken the bait, he might make a mistake."  
  
Mon Mothna sighed. "Time may be against us, but we have to be very careful here. Or we could loose Skywalker, permanently."  
  
"I understand." It was Leia, "I know more than anyone what could be happening to Luke right now, but I understand. It's our only hope."  
  
"If," the general growled, "he's still alive."  
  
Han stared at the floor. Did he really want his friend alive? Vader was probably torturing Luke even now.  
  
/  
  
"Your right side is open," the mechanical voice growled as the shinning yellow blade nicked Skywalker's skin. Luke bit back a curse. The practice blades hurt and left welts. He'd carry that burn for a week.  
  
"You need to let the Force guide you, let it move your arms. You are trying to move the Force, not let it move you." They continued to circle in the sparing room, its blank walls offering no distractions.  
  
"Yes, my lord-father." Luke replied, watching the armored form. That was part of the problem, he mussed. His father was wearing armor. Even though he had managed a few hits- his father was not feeling their sting. Welts on his arms and legs were not slowing him down. Unlike Luke, who felt like a children's drawing board, he had so many lines.  
  
Vader paused, thinking of the new title his son had just called him. He liked it. "Enough." He growled, "you're getting sloppy." Vader watched his son switch off the practice blade and mop his brow with a towel. "You need to get in better shape."  
  
"I know, father. I also need to read about fifty reports, meditate, eat, sleep, and find some time to get to know you better. I need to find about six more hours in the day."  
  
"Ten." Vader hissed, inwardly smiling. Vader was busier on this 'vacation' than he had ever been, but it was worth it.  
  
"Actually, I could find time to do some things I've been wanting to do if I could find twelve."  
  
"Which are?"  
  
"I want to ride one of the Trings around in the woods out there. It's driving me nuts not to know the lay of the land here. I'm used to being part of a patrol."  
  
"You've got my security up in arms about patrols."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Don't be. They needed it. You'll have to tell them how to keep the trooper's minds fresh when patrolling the same area over and over, you know."  
  
"I will if you want me to."  
  
"They are your security too, my son."  
  
"Yes." Luke said, realizing it was true. He wasn't really used to the idea, yet.  
  
"Now, let's work on your ability to scan an area with the Force. You can visit the woods that way."  
  
"As you wish, my lord-father." Luke gave him a mock bow.  
  
"Imprudent whelp." Vader growled, tousling Luke's hair with a gloved hand as they left the sparing room. Luke grinned back. Their re-forming bond rippled between them, basking in their closeness.  
  
/  
  
Luke warily took the towel from the manservant, stepping from the tub. He was exhausted. No matter how much he learned each day, there was always more. Saber practice, meditation, sensing, he was constantly stretching himself. Paradoxically, what took the least movement, took the most out of him. Sensing the land around the castle had completely drained him. He wrapped the towel around his waist, taking another to wipe his arms.  
  
"Shhh." Luke hissed, glaring down at the red welts on his skin. "Damn, they hurt." He whispered. He lifted his arm, sniffing it. "I even smell scorched." He grumbled, turning to the man in red and black livery. "Do you have anything for these?"  
  
"Yes, Master Luke. I will have something sent up right away." The man bowed, scurrying off. He was back before Luke made it to the bed. "Here, Master Luke." 


End file.
